What Goes Around, Comes Around
by TheDiiva
Summary: All that was between Wes and a town free of ghosts - and by extension, Phantom - was a simple locked door. But things aren't always so easy, and sometimes karma can be a cruel devil. It's time to learn a lesson, child, whether you want to or not.
1. Accidents Happen

**-o-oOo-o-**

Careful, my child, for you reap what you sow.

 **-o-oOo-o-**

Wes was irritable. He was _thiiiiiis_ close to finally getting evidence of Fenton being Phantom. He had his camera poised and ready, finger over the record button. And what did that dick do? Phantom - _**Fenton**_ \- looked right at him and smiled before turning invisible. He was gone from view for just a second, too quick for him to even hit the button, before he popped back — as Fenton. Still wearing that god damned ' _too-bad-try-again-next-time_ ' smirk.

Oh how Wes wanted to punch it off his stupid face.

He passed by Fentonworks during his brooding walk around town. The neon sign was atrocious even in the middle of the day. He sneered at it. The ghosts were **their** fault. Theirs and that stupid _portal_.

Wes blinked, and then slowly smiled.

Danny had been talking to his groupies today about how the portal was down right now. And right now, there wasn't a single vehicle in the driveway, not even that stupid assault vehicle. All that was between him and a town free of ghosts - and by extension, _Phantom_ \- was a simple locked door.

It didn't take long to shimmy the lock open. The family always was ridiculously careless.

For some reason he didn't expect the house to look so...normal. It was really quite boring, if you ignored the guns and devices lazily strewn about. Almost homely, in a way.

Into the kitchen and down the stairs, to the infamous Fenton Ghost Lab. His footsteps echoed off the metal riveted to the walls. On the other side of the room, to his right, was the gaping throat of the portal. It was big and it was ugly. Wasn't Jack Fenton an engineering genius, with his wife not far behind? And they couldn't have made it look at least decent? There were wires everywhere, for gods sake! Panels were off, chippy ties holding bundles of machine innards into haphazardous groups. Yet despite this, the tunnel's gullet still hummed with electricity - they hadn't even unplugged it before setting to work on it.

Wes didn't know if that was stupid or smart. Either way, it didn't mater anymore. For the benefit of the town, for the sake of everyone's lives, he was destroying it. He pulled the plugs, and the lab was encased in eerie silence.

He searched around. There had to be some integral part that this thing couldn't function without, something not easily replaced. But also something that he could actually break. He didn't find anything, and he didn't dare try to pull things off the wall to see what was underneath. The back of the portal was just a black wall painted with some weird kind of light absorbing paint. but nothing to destroy. Swearing loudly at being thwarted for the second time that day, he spun on his heel and stomped back towards the metal mouth.

Perhaps he should have lifted his feet higher, maybe then the confounded wires wouldn't have gotten tangled around his ankles.

He tripped. His shoulder hit the wall, his head fallowing closely after. White dots danced in his eyes. Grimacing, he could already tell it was going to bruise. He blinked, confused, when the wall behind him gave way a fraction of an inch with a pleasant little _click_. Pushing himself up, he turned, and stared dumbly at the panel. Two huge colored buttons met his gaze - one Off, and one On. The vibrant green on glowed innocently up at him.

Who was the dumbass who put the control buttons on the _**inside**_ of the damn machine?

Wes felt his muscles twitch, as if prodded by a tiny spark, and it was in that instant he became very, _**very**_ acutely aware of the loud guttural hum all around him.

He didn't even have time to scream before green and white swallowed him whole.

Instant agony shot through every part of him, every single nerve, bathing him in the purest of pain. It hurt, oh god, it _hurt._ As hot as fire, as sharp as a thousand knives. It bit into him, gnawing and stabbing and tearing and ripping and burning. Rended long intangible claws into him and yanked,splitting him and pulling him apart, organ by organ, bone by bone, muscle by muscle. He couldn't even writhe, it'd ensnared him, paralyzed him. His own screams hurt his ears, devoured greedily by the great ugly metalic jaws of the portal.

He felt like he was being ripped apart by the very fibers of his being.

And all too soon, or perhaps not soon enough, it all just stopped. The influx of noise, the electricity, the pain, the color, the awareness. Wes shook, swaying on his unsteady feet. Neon green painting bright patterns on the tunnel walls made his nauseous and dizzy. He turned, not really of his own accord, and took three steps his brain failed to register. He felt so numb. The cool air of the lab made steam rise from his body. He blinked, finally seeing instead of just staring, shocked and unresponsive, towards it all.

He felt unreal.

The lab swam in blurs before his eyes.

The realization came crashing down upon him, and he fell to his knees.

' _I'm_ _dead_ ,' was all he could think before the numb darkness enveloped him, very much welcomed.

-o-o-o-o-o-

AN: So, uh. This is a Thing. I actually wrote the first chapter of this eons ago, as a little 'what if' thing on Tumblr. However, after going back to reread it, I really wanted to continue it into a full story. So here we are!

I love Wes, he's such a dork. And I show my love by murdering him, as you do.

Wes isn't on the character selector I'm so upset. He's my main chaRACTER!


	2. Congrats, You're dead

**-o-oOo-o-**

I told you so, Child, now see what you've done?

 **-o-oOo-o-**

His eyes snapped open and Wes screamed.

Fear and panic shot through his veins, his heart pounding wildly against his ribs. The uneven gray tiles and fluorescent lights of the Fenton's lab ceiling greeted him. Parts of his vision were bathed in glowing green. His voice died away, chest heaving for air. He blinked, slowly coming to his senses, the memories rushing back like a feral tsunami. He swallowed, his throat tight and dry. His hands shook when he tried to push himself up from the floor, be it from the waning adrenaline burst or fear, he didn't know. He scanned the room, finding it very much empty and the same as before... _ **it.**_ His gaze landed on the portal, staring into the swirling torrent of ectoplasm that rippled the surface. It hummed constantly, contently, the same tone from inside. The smell of sour toxicity stung his nose.

Wes scrambled away from it, back colliding with the cold metal of a counter. He sat there, quivering, staring.

It didn't make any sense.

He'd unplugged it. It was _off._ How did it regain it's power to turn on if it wasn't plugged in?

The green swirled indifferently. It offered no answers. Instead, he was left with his own dawning realization.

There wasn't any way he survived something like that.

Trembling fingers raised to the side of his neck, pressing down. No steady beat caressed them. Wes pushed deeper, harder, desperately searching for any fleeting pulse. Ice cold dread settled in his stomach, tying painful knots that refused to go away. He felt nothing. His heart wasn't beating.

He was dead. He was _worse_ than dead. Being a ghost was the worst kind of existence; being forced to wander the world forever in a vain attempt at completing a purpose he didn't even know. He was dead, that horrible portal had tore away his life and left him empty and numb and unable to cease existing. It was disgusting, it was perverse—

It was his own damn fault. He never thought the machine would be so dangerous as to actually **kill** him.

Wes tore his eyes away from it, feeling like he was going to be sick. Could ghosts even get sick, or was that just a memory of a feeling? He couldn't remember what the Fenton's said about that kinda stuff in their seminars at school, he never payed much attention during them. A shiver wracked through him, and he screwed his eyes shut. He still felt unreal. Inside a fishbowl that was his own body. Disconnected. His fingers clawed at the floor, searching for an anchor to make the feeling stop, but found only the grooves in the tile. A small pathetic whimper seeped from his throat.

It was only with a little sick satisfaction that Wes noted that the Fenton's would probably go to jail for killing a teenager, and everything they'd created would be shut off. At least he'd kinda succeeded in his goal. But it was a very bitter, very _painful_ victory.

The portal continued to hum its disgusting lullaby. The same tone, over and over. He couldn't stand it anymore. He wanted _away from it._

Wes stumbled to his feet, his legs feeling like jelly. He grabbed a hold of the counter tops to steady himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his hoodie's sleeves, and gawked at them. The teal and black fabric was now, somehow, magenta and white. His brows furrowed, and he glanced at his jeans. Dark gray instead of light blue. He looked at his shoes. Black socks, white sneakers, inverted like everything else. What the fuck...?

He searched for a bathroom, finding one attached directly at the back of the lab, under the stairs. Smart, he supposed. It was small and smelled too much of chemicals, but it did have what he was looking for: a mirror.

He froze when he saw himself. He eyes scanned the face starring back at him, disbelieving. He blinked and it mimicked him. His stomach twisted again. This couldn't be him. It wasn't **right.**

All of his features were the same, it was still certainly his face. High cheeks, narrow chin, pointed nose, youthful eyes. But everything about his face beyond all that was wrong. Just right enough to be him, but also just _wrong_ enough to _**not**_ be.

Where his russet locks had been were now bright turquoise, enshrouded in a white glow. He raised a tentative hand to his hair, running the floaty strands through his fingertips. It _felt_ normal, but different at the same time. Solid yet somehow not. It refused to remain in gravity's grasp and instead waved all about like there were fans everywhere and he was a video being played in slow motion. Pointed ears angled slightly downward peeked out from the swirling mess. His eyes fell to his freckles. They were glowing pink dots, like stars splattered across his purple toned skin. His _purple_ _skin_. Opening his mouth, he took in the fact that his tongue and gums were the same pink color, glow included. Little fangs pointed from where his dull incisors had been.

He grimaced at it all.

What bothered him the most were his eyes, though. They weren't his. His eyes were green – not as green as Phantom's, more like a forest – but now...

Now they were the brightest neon purple he'd ever seen. They wouldn't stop glowing; why did everything need to _glow_? The closer he looked at them, the more they changed. Like the color was shifting and morphing into various similar hues. Blobs of pink would appear where spots of indigo vanished. Like a lava lamp, or the lazy spiral of the portal, or —

Wes snapped back away from the mirror as the realization dawned on him. He'd seen this before, in Phantom. Twisting swirling pools of green lime and yellow instead of icy blue. Green freckles, green tongue, small fangs, white hair where should be black.

And suddenly everything fell into place with a sickening _**plop**_ _._

He was never able to figure out _how_ Danny became Phantom. It never made sense, how someone could be a human and ghost at the same time. But now the answer was ridiculously simple he wanted to kick himself for being so stupid. Danny was killed by his parent's portal, _Phantom_ was his ghost. The two somehow became inseparably connected in the exact same kind of accident he'd just suffered.

Wes' fingers curled around the metal of the sink, nails slowly elongating into hard claws. There was just one difference, one very bitter difference.

Danny was still **alive.** And _he_ was _**not**_.

He tore away from the sink, storming from the bathroom. He needed to get out of the house. If Mr. and Mrs. Fenton returned to find him in their lab, they wouldn't waste a second trying to strap him down and experiment on him. Because he was a ghost now. He was an _abomination_ now.

He took the stairs up two at a time, slipping just as easily out of the front door as he had entering. He didn't even bother to relock it behind him, it didn't matter. He yanked his hood out from it's bundled mess, pulling it completely over his head. Hopefully, no one would notice his glowing due to the tie of day. His hair refused to cooperate, instead opting to shift and curl around the hem for all the world to see. It didn't matter how many times he shoved it back inside, it always slipped right back out. Growling through clenched teeth, he gave up, keeping his head down to at least try to minimize the visibility. He continued stalking down the street. If he was lucky, he would get home before he was seen. He needed a safe place to think.

Most unfortunately, he was never lucky.

"Yo Wes-ling! Nice jacket, did your Daddy pick it out for you?!"

Wes groaned at the sound of Dash's voice. Always one to pop up at the worst times, that one.

 _'So you can recognize me without even seeing my face and yet you can't recognize Fenton? What the hell?'_ He thought bitterly, picking up his pace. He just wanted to get home without incident.

It was futile. Dash and his gang had spotted him, noticed his 'girl colored' clothes and become interested for some 'fun'. He saw them approaching from the other side of the street. He quickly shuffled through his options. They were faster than him, so running wasn't a favorable choice. But he really didn't want to stop moving for a confrontation, either, the fear of being discovered overwhelming. He didn't want them to know he was dead. He didn't want _anyone_ to know. Wes raised his gaze a little, an alley between two homes approaching on his right. He wondered if there was somewhere he could hide there.

 _'Just keep moving.'_ He thought, _'They'll get bored if you just keep walking. They won't follow you forever.'_

"OI! I'm talking to you, wuss!"

"Why can't you just go pick on Fenton or Ricky, you idiot?" Wes muttered under his breath, clenching his teeth.

He turned abruptly into the alley, scanning for somewhere to hide. It was empty save for the soggy newspaper pages scattered on the ground. He cursed, keeping his hurried pace. Distantly, he contemplating just running home, since he was only a block or two away, but his body answered that for him. It ached from the walking, and he became aware he was still sore from the incident. He wouldn't be able to run, let alone keep going as fast as he was for much longer.

He heard the pounding footsteps astoundingly clearly. His heart jumped into his throat, panic threatening to overwhelm him

"God, I just wish I could fuckin' disappear." He muttered, trying to will the anxiety to go away.

An odd tingling vibration sensation pooled through Wes, and a pleasant coolness enveloped him, causing him to pause. Behind him, Dash and his group just turned into the ally. They all froze, bumping into each other as confusion swept through each one of them.

"Where the hell did he go?!"

"He was right in front of us!"

 _'And I still am,'_ Wes thought, staring at them. Yet they stared right through him— His eyes widened in realization, ' _Like I'm not even here!'_

He raised a hand in front of him, and as expected, the slightly distorted bricks of the building behind it shown right through. A blurred outline of where his fingers and palm should be was all that he could detect. A wide grin split his face.

 _'This is useful_ ,' was his first thought. His second was, ' _Fuckin'_ **ghost** _powers,_ _DUH_ _!'_

Realization dawned on Dash's face, "Dude, he started running, you morons; let's go!"

Wes simply stepped sidestepped closer to the wall and watched them as they ran right past him. After a brief moment of waiting for their footsteps to die away, he turned and walked out of the same side he entered the alley in, continuing on his way home with a little bit of a smug bounce in his stride. Only a little, though, he was still very dead and very aware of it.

Thankfully, his dad was still at work at this time of day, so there was no one home to greet or confront him. He stepped into his living room, the soft smell of vanilla familiar and pleasant. He inhaled deeply, the tension slowly draining out of him as he flopped on the couch, dumbly thankful he didn't just go right through it. He stared at the chipping paint on the ceiling, neon locks of hair dancing to the side of his vision. A lump grew in his throat, accompanied by hot wetness gathering in the corner of his eyes. He didn't bother fight them, they were going to happen no matter what. With an exhausted sigh, his eyes slid closed.

"Fuck..." he whispered, tears sliding down his skin into the trenches of his ears. They tickled, but he couldn't be bothered to wipe them away.

"What am I going to do? What am I going to say? How am I going to explain this to Dad?" Wes murmured, voice strained and wavering a little. "What's going to happen to me now?"

His fingers dug into the plush of the cushion beneath him, clinging desperately as his entire world teetered sickeningly. Things had changed, and nothing would be the same ever again. His face twisted into a grimace, the lump threatening to suffocate him.

"I screwed up. I screwed up big time..." he breathed. The regret was crushing. What had he been thinking? How could have have reasonably thought he could sabotage a machine like that? He was an idiot. A stupid fucking moron. A _dead_ stupid moron. He bit his lip, screwing his eyes tighter closed.

"I don't want to be like this...I don't want to be like-like the _others..._ "

The memories of dozens of ghosts flashed through his mind, each with their own terrible, cruel obsessions. Ember the rock star who nearly enslaved the entire world through mind control. Technus, the crazy techno genius who always caused thousands in damages. Amorpho the shape shifter causing damaging trouble. That crazy dragon who tried to kill Paulina. Skulker who always endangered people's lives attempting to capture Phantom. The Wisconsin Ghost, sadistic and arrogant with an unquenchable thirst for power. The Ghost King, with his unstoppable army who displaced the _entire_ _city_.

Each one did terrible things, horribly terrible things. They were all twisted and evil, inhuman and incapable of emotion.

Phantom was right to capture them, but he needed to keep them locked within that unnatural dimension so they wouldn't come back. They didn't belong here. No ghost did.

Including, now, him.

He was a ghost. He still had the last shreds of his humanity right now, but when would he loose them? What disgusting perversion of himself would he turn into? He bit down on his lip, hard. Sharp pain bloomed from where his fangs threatened to break the skin. He didn't want to think about it anymore. He wanted desperately, to pretend nothing had happened. He couldn't stand the idea of becoming what he hated.

Briefly, Danny flashed into his mind, and his thoughts calmed. He was a ghost too, but he wasn't...like _them._ Different from the ones he caught and returned to that hell-dimension. He was annoying and always causing problems, yeah, but he was also kind and just and good. He laughed, he cried, he got hurt and he suffered. But he still went out of his way to protect the city, even though he didn't have to. He wouldn't be helping people and saving lives if he didn't care. He still retained his humanity, even as a ghost.

Which, Wes supplied, made sense for him. Danny was still somehow alive, so it'd make sense he'd still be so human-like.

His hopes plummeted. He now had no basis to believe that he wouldn't become a violent, obsessive spirit, cruelly trying to wreak havoc and ruin people's lives. Danny was the only good ghost he knew, and he wasn't even completely a ghost. He was most likely destined to becoming a corrupt mockery of who he had been in life, against his will.

Wes sniffled, prying his eyes back open. It was easier to believe that nothing had changed when his eyes were closed, because every time they were open, his wild hair was always in sight. Making itself known. Reminding him. Tormenting him. 'Hey dumbass, remember that really stupid thing you did? Yeah you do, and now you're dead! Congratulations!'

His stomach grumbled. He wondered if he was actually hungry or if he just feeling the memory of hunger. He hadn't eaten breakfast, because of following Danny, so he desperately wished it to be real. He pushed himself from the couch, dragging his feet as he sulked into the kitchen. Nothing in any of the cabinets really jumped out at him, but he really wanted to eat, so he grabbed a can of chicken and a bottle of water, and trudged upstairs to his room. Tossing his lunch onto the quilted covers of his bed, he wriggled out of his miscolored hoodie. It was tossed to the floor in the vague corner of the room the rest of his dirty clothes were, and he paused to stare. Even off his body, the article glowed, a stark contradiction to everything else. It didn't belong. He felt an odd urge to gather his laundry and wash it, so his room would be cleaner. It'd only make sense, it wasn't like he'd really be needing to 'live' in it anymore.

Would his dad kick him out because he was now a freak existing in the image of his son? He hoped not, but people didn't deal well with ghosts, so he legitimately didn't know.

He ate in silence, savoring the taste and texture of his food, things he'd never really done before. Eating made him feel a little bit more normal, so he clung to it, made it last. It was weird, Wes knew, but he still did it. He found his eyes wandering over the clutter in his room, scrutinizing it. Not like there was much, just his books and assignments tossed across his desk, cups and litter at his computer. The trashcan was full, and he'd not put some stuff away for a while. Again, not a lot. He'd never really cared much for a slight mess before, this was the normal state of his room. But still, they were bothering him for some reason.

Wes began to clean the moment he finished eating. It became a good way to avoid his thoughts; he wasn't ready to contemplate what he would do just yet. The litter was gathered, CDs put back on their correct shelves, games and controllers picked up from the floor. He picked up all his clothes, not even bothering to sort them before tossing them in a load. His hoodie was shoved into the back of his closet, suppressed by others things to stifle the glow. His schoolwork was sorted and neatly organized by class. He took the trash bag down to the main trash can in the kitchen, throwing the dishes from his room and the sink into the dishwasher. He even stripped his bed, changed the sheets, and completely remade it, which was about the third time he'd done that _ever._

He stopped for a moment to stretch his hands to the ceiling, standing on his toes. His body gave several satisfying pops and cracks, relief blooming in their wake. With a long sigh, he dropped his arms and looked around. He contemplated getting the vacuum. It'd been months since that'd been done in here. He cast a look to the clock: 4:41. Two more hours and his dad would get home, and then...he swallowed.

Then he'd have to explain to his dad he went and got himself killed.

For the life of him, he couldn't think of a good enough excuse to explain why his corpse would most likely be found in the Fenton basement. If it hadn't already been.

"Maybe I could work with the 'crazy conspiracy theorist stalker' thing. I broke into their house to try to find dirt on Danny, and when I found nothing in the rest of the house, I went into the basement and got curious about the portal." Wes muttered, sinking into his swivel chair, eyeing the bulletin board of theories and evidence supporting his claim that Fenton was Phantom. The giant golden spot where the camera holding the video of his transformation was supposed to be mocked him. "Not like I'll even need to give an official statement to anyone besides Dad. I'll probably be hunted if I tried to go to the police to explain myself."

Wes sighed again, staring at his hands in his lap. The light purple skin also mocked him. He hated it. He'd never much liked purple or pink, they were too flowery of colors. Why couldn't he get a blue or yellow or green, like Phantom's skin? He picked at his nails, bitten low because of a nervous habit. The new details of his body would take time to get used to. He didn't think he'd ever get used to his hair, or the way his sharpened teeth felt too big against his lips.

He really didn't want to tell his Dad. He'd be so disappointed in him. So upset. So _heartbroken._ It didn't matter how many times he'd say he fucked up or apologized, this could never be fixed. He wasn't ever coming back to life. And that scared Wes. Hurt him. Made him want to lay down and cry and scream and wail like a pathetic little baby. He'd had dreams, he'd had goals. Things he'd always wanted to do and things he'd been putting off until tomorrow because he hadn't known that he only had a finite amount of _tomorrows_ left.

He was still a kid. Kids weren't supposed to die.

Wes assumed he'd have all the time in the world to worry about his end when he turned fifty, not _fifteen._ He'd never go to college. Never have a girl or boyfriend. He'd never have his first kiss, first date, first sexual encounter. No marriage or children or career or dream home. He'd robbed himself of those things, cursed himself to an existence of turmoil, all for a stupid attempt to stop all the ghost crap.

He believed in karma, but this just felt too unfair a punishment.

He felt the tears coming again and he covered his mouth to hold back the choking sob. He wanted to go back in time and undo it all. He wanted to hide and never come back out. He wanted to run to Danny and punch him in his face because blaming him at least gave him an excuse to relieve some frustration and pain. He got up and sunk onto his bed, onto the soft quilted blanket his mother had crafted with so much love and care when he was a baby. It only made him hurt more. She'd be so upset with him too. She gave him life and he threw it away so carelessly. He wanted to just disappear forever. The airy feeling of turning invisible returned. It didn't make him feel any better.

He bit his lip to hold back the whimpers, shimmying up the bed until he could pull the edge of his blankets out from under him to over him, snuggling into a tight ball of fabric. There, finally, he let it all overwhelm him.

He cried and sobbed and whimpered, hot years flowing in thick streams from his eyes and just wouldn't stop. He hurt, he hurt so damn much. He could still feel the agony from the portal, still hear the haunting hum within his head. He just wanted it all to stop. But it wouldn't and he couldn't stop crying until hiccups plagued his body and he was left gasping for shallow breath, tears and snot staining his face. His eyes hurt and his nose wouldn't stop running, and the start of a headache tapped on his brain. The soft plushness of his cocoon eased the soreness in his body he'd been ignoring for hours, the darkness and familiar scent comforting, but not enough to chase his demons away. He felt safe, but still broken. He whispered so many prayers and apologies, hoping that maybe some God would hear him and fix everything. It was most likely futile, but little hope was better than none at all.

After a long time, he quietly sniffled through shallow, but finally even, breaths. His eyes stared at the wall, unfocused and glassy, and he just breathed. He felt better, but exhausted.

So exhausted he didn't realize he fell asleep until he was awoken by his alarm for school the next morning.


End file.
